


Contemplations

by ponderinfrustration



Series: The Sharpest Lives [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Past Drug Use, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3618819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would do for some people won't do for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contemplations

It’s a thought he considers, if not regularly then certainly sometimes. What would it be like to end it all? To not have to deal with a racing brain and a hollow chest? Surely it would be so peaceful compared to this.

Boring even, some would say, though perhaps boring would be preferable to this exhaustion that weighs on him all of the time, beyond his or anyone else’s control.

There’s a knife in the kitchen. A big knife which is probably meant for slicing meat, though he uses it in his experiments. That would do, if he chose. He could open up his wrists and watch as the life bleeds out.

Not feasible, though. While it might certainly do for some people – and he’s seen the cases to prove it – it’s too slow for him, not enough of a guarantee of success. There’s the chance that he’d be found in time, and then his wrists would likely be permanently ruined, tendons cut or something like that. How could he carry out experiments then?

Aside from his scarf, he’s never liked having things around his neck, and it took a long time to adjust to even a scarf. A noose would be an unbearable way to go and anyway, he’s never been too talented at making them.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried.

He could try to shoot himself, but he doesn’t have a gun. Mycroft intervened when he tried to buy one, and John doesn’t live here anymore. And it’s too much effort to acquire one just to do himself in.

Just like it’s too much effort to buy heroin or cocaine and overdose. It happened once, accidentally, and it was unbearable. His whole body was on fire. He went into cardiac arrest, in the back of the ambulance. But Mycroft had found him in time and they were able to reverse it.

He should have just left him to die. They’d all be better off then.

No, more than likely if he made his mind up to do it he’d poison himself. Cook something up with the chemistry set in the kitchen and knock it back with a whisky, let it take its course. He wouldn’t leave a note this time, would make it look like an accident, absolve everyone from guilt. It’s not as if they could have changed anything anyway, no matter how they tried.

He’s been dealing with this since he was twelve. He knows he has to let it take its course. And, as always, when he comes out the other side he’ll be better. No one will even realise that he was broken.


End file.
